


kurokura one-shots

by unreadable0



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aladdin! AU, Angst, Arranged Marriage AU, Forbidden Attraction, Gods and Goddesses AU, Grief/Mourning, Hunchback of Notre Dame AU, Love Triangles, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Memory Loss, Memory Regaining, Olympics!AU, One-Sided Attraction, Past Lives, Soulmate au!, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, but expanded to general oneshots, courting, dream demon AU, god!kuroro, knight!kuroro, mortal!kurapika, noble!kurapika, originally for kurokuraweek 2019, victorian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2019-07-29 19:00:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unreadable0/pseuds/unreadable0
Summary: 11. Kurapika thinks that his new suitor is arrogant, self-entitled, and all-around insufferable. What does Baron Lucilfer think he can offer him that the others have not already? Loose Victorian AU.





	1. Day One: Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

> hey! I've emerged from inactivity for kurokuraweek2018! I probably won't be able to complete all seven days because this quarter is being a butt but here you go!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a different take on the arranged marriage au.

Kurapika's future husband is a strange man.

He gets this impression from the very moment that he meets him, when he is barely eighteen and yet ready to be handed over to a neighboring lord. His betrothed, a favorite of his majesty's knights, is not what he expects. Most knights that Kurapika has met are crass, loud, _entitled—_ everything that he despises. But the man is poised and polite and the perfect paradigm of propriety, with the formal way that he addresses him and the gloved hand that always finds its way lightly at his elbow. Somehow, Kurapika hates him more for it.

Kuroro Lucilfer is his name, and the name curls honeyed off of the man's tongue when he introduces himself. His mother is instantly charmed by his manners and his wealth, and Kurapika is left to wander the property alone as they discuss the price that his suitor is willing to pay for him. He goes to the gardens first and finds that still, he cannot unwind. Not when the flowers, all expensive strains, sit manicured and pruned in neat little square plots. It is just like the rest of the house—filled with things that he is too afraid to touch.

So he sits down on one of the ornate benches with his hands folded neatly in his lap and takes up as little space as possible, just as his tutors had taught him to. And that is how his future husband finds him. The man lingers just out of sight for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to intrude, and Kurapika can feel his stare burning at the back of his head. Kurapika more hears his footsteps than actually sees him approach, and he wonders just how long he can manage to ignore the other's presence before it is deemed rude.

There is a soft rustle of fabric as the other sits down across from him, and Kurapika looks up at his face for the first time.

Lucilfer is not an unattractive man, that Kurapika can acknowledge. He has a straight, aristocratic nose, and high cheekbones. His skin is pale, but not terribly so, and his hair is thick and a dark brown, nearly black. His mouth has a soft set to it, carefully neutral, and the blond cannot help but curse what a perfect picture he makes. Still, he cannot bring himself to look the other in the eye, and he startles slightly as a leather-encased hand reaches out to take his wrist. At once, he goes rigid. The gesture feels perfunctory, almost cold, and Kurapika wants nothing more than to recoil.

"Your mother has agreed to my proposal on the behalf of your house," the other man says, voice light. "I was wondering if you had a particular date in mind, so that I may begin the preparations."

Suddenly the cool summer air seems stifling, and the hand on his wrist feels more like an iron shackle than a lover's reassurance. He wants to scream at him, to struggle and make the other's life the kind of hell that Lucilfer has made his, but he knows what would happen if he does.

He is saving his house's reputation when he settles for a vague smile.

"The spring is always pleasing in the countryside," he finds himself replying, voice coming out less steady than he'd like it to. The spring is far away, too. Kurapika knows that he is being foolish, asking for more time.

"Is that so?" Lucilfer questions, tone downright _saccharine_ , and the sweetness curls around Kurapika’s mind sickeningly. "I've always preferred the autumn months."

Kurapika tries to choose his next words carefully. "But the seasons are changing quite soon, do you not think? There would hardly be any time to plan a proper ceremony."

There's a slight draw downwards of the man's lips, and Kurapika knows that his intentions have been figured out.

"And wait so long?"

The other's tone is teasing, but it is edged with something else that Kurapika cannot name. Glancing upwards, he catches a flicker of true emotion in the other's grey eyes, fleeting and yet stunning all the same.

His gaze holds a kind of quiet hunger. A hunger for something that Kurapika is hesitant to satisfy. At once, Kurapika tears his gaze away, but the damage has already been done.

The way that the man regards him, like a predator assessing its prey. There is want, yes, but also a calculating glint in the other's eyes that makes him appear less man and more monster. _Monsters._ That is how his father views the Royal Guard. Not as knights but as His Majesty’s attack dogs, kept on a close leash until the need arises and they are let loose.

That is when Kurapika recognizes the small rune etched into Lucilfer’s wrist, peeking out from the black of his leather glove. _Cæthder._ Restraint. The brand of killers used to curb their appetites for violence, for their vices. Cold fear settles in his stomach. The superficiality of his future husband’s actions are not ones of a loveless union as Kurapika had imagined but something far worse, and the evidence is clear as the tattoo embedded into the other man’s skin.

“I’ll let the servants know to start the preparations,” Lucilfer says carelessly, as if the nine little words aren’t permanently sealing Kurapika’s fate. “The ceremony will take place in two weeks. Is that to your liking?” The sharpness of tone leaves no room for argument.

So Kurapika chokes back his refusal. “Of course.”

The other man smiles, the once-charming expression now holding an unnerving tilt. One hand draws out a ring from his coat and slips it onto Kurapika’s fourth finger before he can protest.

The jewelry is a heavy thing made of bronze and ruby, with Lucilfer’s seal cut into the stone. It gives off an eerie light in the afternoon sun, and the unearthly red stains the other’s hands scarlet.

“Thank you.” The thanks comes out strained and tinted with unease, but Lucilfer doesn’t notice.

“I will see at dinner, then, _betrothed_ ,” he tells him, running a finger possessively over the ring.

Rising, the man lets go of his wrist, and despite the fact that the hand holding him down is gone, Kurapika feels even more trapped than before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> youch that was kinda a dumpster fire! here are some notes:
> 
> 1\. this is a kind of royalty + slight magic au, so the rune on kuroro's arm is actually restraining him because whoops he's kind of a bad guy
> 
> 2\. the word 'caethdar' is actually a welsh word for 'restraint,' just with an added diphthong. 
> 
> 3\. kuroro is fcking creepy. enough said
> 
> let me know what you think guys!


	2. day two: memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which kurapika gains memories from across the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a butt to write... and it's much longer than I anticipated, so originally I was going to post this in two sittings, but then I decided to not cliff-hang you guys and give you the whole thing. I hope you like it!

It starts when he’s seventeen.

Small things at first, like little snippets of conversations that Kurapika knows he’s never had, and voices he’s never heard before, disjointed and jumbled as if he had sunken his head under water. Almost imperceptible brushes against his thoughts, and in his haste to get university applications completed he attributes it to a lack of sleep and ignores it.

But once the chaos is over and he can stop long enough to just _breathe,_ the whispers get louder. Locations he’s never been to start popping up in his head, and a language that he doesn’t understand slips into his mind, broken and panicked and accompanied with the scent of smoke and blood. Memories resurface, fragments of recollection that don’t make sense. Walking the city streets alone, a suit clinging damp to his skin and the weight of a glass box in his arms. People in strange clothing, calling out in that trilling language and he can hear his own laughter following, so sharp and clear and _vivid_ that Kurapika has to remind himself that it isn’t real.

He finds himself walking into a jewelry and impulsively buying a red earring for no reason other than pure instinct. The weight feels right, somehow, the red stone tapping comfortingly at his neck.

He tries to reassure himself that it’s probably the product of the overactive imagination that he’s always had, but every now and then he feels a bolt of pure, unadulterated fear and he reaches instinctively for chains that he knows aren’t there. He searches for the names and places that he keeps on remembering in every atlas and search engine he can, and he feels relief and just a twinge of unexplained disappointment when he finds that they don’t exist.

After a few weeks the memories seem to have reached their crescendo, and then they just stop. He shoves the incidents into the farthest corners of his mind and nearly forgets. _(Nearly.)_

It’s not until his first semester of university that the dreams start.

The first one is so jarring that Kurapika swears he can still feel someone’s touch when he wakes up.

* * *

 _The room is dark, and the smooth, slippery feeling of silk falls in rippling waves around his waist. There are guilt and shame gathering at the back of his throat. Kurapika swallows thickly as scrambles out of the bed. Anger and hurt and_ fear _thrums under his skin, and he tears himself out of the other man’s grasp. The built-up emotion pours from his lips._

 _“I hate you!_ I hate you!” _he screams, but the note of uncertainty at the end makes the statement sound more like a reassurance than an accusation._

_There’s the soft rustling of sheets as the man reaches out to him, a small, melancholy smile at his lips that Kurapika still can’t understand. Arms circle around his waist and the other kisses him gently on the forehead, every action of his so tender and understanding that Kurapika wants to cry._

_“I know. I know,” he says, and Kurapika allows himself to_ break.

* * *

Kurapika meets an upperclassman named Leorio Paladiknight later that week. At first, the man is insufferable and arrogant and everything that Kurapika despises, but then something feels so right as he slides into a kind of easy banter with him. It’s like something clicks into place in the universe, and for a moment the white noise humming in the background of Kurapika’s thoughts quiets. Leorio doesn’t bother to ask how Kurapika knows the things he does about him, like how the left corner of his mouth always tilts downwards when he’s lying, or how his passion for becoming a doctor stretches way past the facade of grandeur that he has put up. Leorio doesn’t ask, and for that Kurapika is grateful.

* * *

_“I missed you,” the man whispers, lips finding their way to the curve of Kurapika’s neck. It feels so natural, falling into their old patterns again, and he wants to hate it._

_“You can’t,” he replies, tone cold even as he leans into the other’s touch._

_“I can’t what?”_

_Kurapika sighs and turns to face the man. “You can’t miss me.”_

_It’s too dim to see the other’s expression, but Kurapika catches a glint of white as the man smiles. “Why not?”_

_“Because that’s not who we are. That’s not what we do.” Kurapika walks out of the other’s embrace and reaches down to retrieve his things. Surprisingly, the other lets him, but he’s about to open the door when the man says,_

_“And who are we anyway?”_

_Kurapika’s taken aback by the question. “I think you know the answer.”_

_The other closes the distance between them swiftly, and if it weren’t for the events of the past few months Kurapika would have reached for his chains by now._

_“You are mine, and I am yours,” he says simply._

_“Not forever,” Kurapika protests, but even so he sets down his luggage. The man plants a lingering kiss on his lips._

_“Stay,” he pleads, and Kurapika does._

* * *

Kurapika wakes with a kind of emptiness that he can’t explain.

“Is it possible to miss someone you’ve never met?” he asks Leorio when they’re having lunch in between lectures.

The other man just shrugs and stirs his soup pensively. “Maybe not possible to miss someone you’ve never met, but perhaps it is possible to miss more the idea of a person rather than the person itself.”

“Oh.” Kurapika’s staring intently at his bowl of noodles now.

“Why do you ask?” There’s genuine curiosity in his tone, coupled with something that Kurapika can’t quite put his finger on.

“No reason.”

Leorio gives him an odd look out of the corner of his eye, a kind of soft fondness that makes Kurapika wonder what he did to deserve it.

Still, it leaves him feeling warmer than before. He clings onto the feeling, because it’s _real._

* * *

 _"You can’t keep doing this.” It’s Leorio, pacing around the room with his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. “You can’t keep doing this, Kurapika. We worry about you._ I _worry about you. Stay,_ please. _”_

_“You know I can’t,” he replies. The way that the other man visibly deflates makes Kurapika’s resolve crack. “You know I don’t get to choose.” Walking up to the doctor, he places a placating hand on the man’s arm. “Hey,” he says softly, “I’ll be okay.”_

_Turning, Leorio reaches up to place a hand on the blond’s cheek. “I know. I know.” Kurapika can see that he wants to say more, but he covers the other’s mouth with his own before the man can say anything else to make him hurt even more. Leorio is all over him in an instant, and the kiss is too desperate and tainted with a sense of urgency for Kurapika to melt into it._

_“Stay,” Leorio begs, but Kurapika doesn’t._

* * *

It’s New Year’s and Leorio drags him to one of his friend’s parties to have whatever the man mistakenly calls “fun.” Alcohol is flowing and the music resonates deep within Kurapika’s bones, and soon he and Leorio are both flushed and dancing loosely entwined in each other’s arms. Distantly, he wonders if this was all part of Leorio’s plan, but then the medical student hands him a glass of water with a slurred warning about getting too drunk and all such thoughts are banished from his mind.

So when the television counts down the seconds until midnight and Leorio pulls him closer, Kurapika lets him. The kiss is different from the one in his dream. It’s colored with the roar of the crowds from the news program they’re watching and the warm burn of alcohol flowing through their veins, and it tastes like the cheap beer they’re drinking mixed with the mint of Leorio’s peppermint gum.

It’s warm and comforting and _familiar,_ but it’s not right.

* * *

_It’s raining. Big, fat drops sloshing down Kurapika’s front and quickly drenching the thin material of his clothes._

_“I can’t. I can’t,” he finds himself saying, words coming out choked and garbled beyond recognition._

_“You have to,” the man urges, and for once Kurapika can see his face in the brightness of the moon. A once-handsome face marred with bruises. Dark hair matted with blood. A face that Kurapika remembers kissing and touching, hating and cursing, in equal measure. The pain is too much, and the oath around Kurapika’s heart threatens to burst._

_“I don’t want to. Not anymore,” he says frantically, as if his words will stop what he has to do._

_“It’s okay,” the other man reassures him. A hand reaches up as if to touch the blond’s face, but stops short. Drawing out his knife, the man wraps Kurapika’s fingers around the handle. “It’s okay.”_

_“No. No,” Kurapika refuses. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose you.”_

_The man just smiles, the same, sad thing.”You have to,” he repeats. His grip tightens around the knife, guiding it down to his neck._

_Kurapika’s hands are slippery from the rain, but the other’s hold keeps his fingers wrapped firmly around the hilt. He’s out of time, and they both know it. He doesn’t have a choice. Every minute that the other remains alive is another minute that Kurapika is taken closer to death._

_“I—”_ I’ll miss you.

_The man’s gaze softens as if he can hear what remains unspoken at Kurapika’s lips. “Don’t.”_

_The knife goes down, and the weight on Kurapika’s chest lifts._

* * *

Kurapika wakes up in cold sweat. He runs for the toilet the first chance he gets and vomits bitter bile.

It’s all too real, and he can still feel the bite of winter rain slipping down his spine.

The clock on the bathroom counter reads _4:25,_ and he resigns himself to sitting on the cold tile, shivering and nauseous, until the sun comes up. He’s too afraid of the dreams, of the _nightmares,_ that will find him when he closes his eyes.

He just wishes that everything would go away. The memories, the pain, the aching _emptiness_ that plagues him.

Oddly enough, it feels like déjà vu to think that.

* * *

The dreams stop after that night, and in the loneliest parts of the night Kurapika finds his thoughts wandering to _that man._ The image of him lingers at the back of his mind, bloodied and broken and _lost._ It’s confusing, and although the nightmares have stopped Kurapika feels like he’s still losing his mind.

He’ll reach out sometimes for someone who isn’t there, a name stuck and forgotten at his lips. A name that he knows he’s called for hundreds of times before; a name that is familiar; a name that he remembers softening out to an endearment once.

He wonders if perhaps the name is the key to everything. If once he hears it, everything will make sense. He spends his waking hours searching for it, trying to remember, but he finds that the more he tries to recall, the more he starts to forget.

Soon the man’s face blurs out of his memories and Kurapika is more terrified than ever before when he finds that he can no longer remember the sound of his voice. He’s afraid that he’ll forget everything, that he’ll forget everything _again._

_Again._

* * *

It’s been two weeks since the memories stopped coming and Kurapika is on edge. He’s trying to hold on to whatever he has left of _that man,_ even though every night he forgets something he knows he’ll never get back.

So when he sees a flash of dark, nearly-black hair, he _runs._

He knows that he must look insane, pushing through the crowds frantically as the man slips out of sight, and the confused shouts from Leorio prove it. But he ignores it all, too fixated on the fact that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t so insane after all.

The man is gone by the time Kurapika makes it to the place where he was. It feels like betrayal, although he isn’t sure why.

“What are you doing?” Leorio asks, slightly out of breath from running after him.

Kurapika’s voice is small when he replies.

“I don’t know. I guess I thought I saw someone.”

* * *

_Hands trace up and down his sides reverently and Kurapika shivers. Words are flowing past his lips, pleas and half-hearted curses melding together in a language that he doesn’t understand._

_The man just laughs, pale moonlight illuminating slats of pale skin as he shifts over top of him. Lips find his own, searching, seeking, and it feels so right, the way that the other’s movements match his perfectly. It’s dark, too dark to see the man’s face clearly, but Kurapika can feel his smile from where it has moved to the side of his neck._

_The man pushes into him again and there’s a name at Kurapika’s lips._

_A name that he’s swallowed back before, kept hidden behind his teeth, but not this time._

_“Kuroro,” he whispers, voice hoarse and strained but there all the same. “Kuroro.”_

_The smile widens against his skin._

* * *

Kurapika goes out for a walk later that night. It’s a spontaneous decision, spurred on by instinct and nothing else. He needs to feel the cold air against his skin, needs to feel _anything_ but the phantom touch of a man that he is sure doesn’t exist. He tells himself that he does not exist because thinking otherwise would surely drive him mad.

He’s halfway out of the door when he sees him.

Illuminated by the streetlamps, he looks even more surprised than Kurapika does. The man looks different than before, dressed simply in a coat and jeans instead of the expensive suits that Kurapika now vividly remembers. There’s a softness in the curve of his lips, too, that wasn’t there before. His eyes don’t hold the same heaviness that they did, but there is a playful glint to them that seems too familiar.

A new name curls itself in his mouth. Kurapika finds himself smiling when he says it. “Kuroro.”

Something seems to click into place then, almost like the world has righted itself at that moment. Kuroro closes the distance between them swiftly.

“Kurapika,” he replies slowly, as if marveling at the sound. “Kurapika,” he repeats, this time with a kind of reverence that shakes Kurapika to his very bones, “I missed you.”

Kurapika meets the other’s gaze as past and present converge into one.

“I missed you too.”

And just like that, all is right in the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that was confusing! feel free to leave an questions you have! I will definitely answer then, because i was confused myself after writing this!


	3. day three: promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroro falls for a mortal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha I had this done a week ago but I haven't had any time to post it! this past week has been so stressful!! I hope you enjoy this dumpster fire!

The first time Kuroro sees the mortal is when the youth is tending to the fields surrounding Lukso Mountains. Kuroro does not often visit the realm of the mortals, but today it is an exception. It is a festival day, where the people of the little town weave flowers into their hair and make offerings and prayers to the gods. The air is thick with perfumes and the din of the crowds echoes through the cramped streets. His brothers and sisters are drunk off of sacrifices and their followers’ exuberance, so Kuroro leaves. The other gods won’t miss him, as his status as a minor deity means that he will never have to take part in the larger ceremonies. 

He was never one for politeness, anyway. 

It doesn’t help that he hates his siblings, all golden and beautiful and absolutely rotten to their cores. They act as if they are above him, but in truth, they are far worse. He is the true reflection of everything that they are, and that terrifies them. 

That is why Kuroro slips out of the city and into the endless stretch of wheat that is the sole provider to its people, and that is where he finds  _ him.  _

The man is illuminated by the setting sun, hair turned the rich color of gold and skin gleaming bright copper from where it peeks out from the priestly white tunic he is wearing. A clear outline of the man’s form is visible through the sinuously thin fabric, and Kuroro wants nothing more than to run his hands down the soft curves he is presented with. The mortal  emits an almost ethereal glow, and if Kuroro didn’t know better he would have mistaken him for a nymph. He is lithe and slender, and lean muscle stretches and flexes as he swings the scythe in one fluid motion. 

His beauty rivals that of the gods and shines brighter a hundredfold. 

Captivated, Kuroro finds himself wandering closer to the youth. It isn’t until he hears the man gasp that he realizes that he is still visible to the mortal eye. 

“A god,” the blond whispers to himself, eyes wide. It is then that Kuroro catches sight of his sister’s insignia emblazoned on his chest, the small black dove mocking him. A young priest, indeed, and his  _ sister’s.  _ Fate has never been crueler, knowing that what he wants has already been claimed by another. 

Still, Kuroro smiles, slow and wicked. “That I am.”

The man immediately recovers from his shock. “Forgive me, my lord. I did not wish to offend,” he says, voice a pretty thing that Kuroro can’t help but imagine breathless and gasping his name. 

“There is no offense,” he replies smoothly, stepping closer. Admirably, the man doesn’t retreat backward and stands his ground fearlessly. “What is your name, mortal?”

A moment of hesitation before he answers. “Kurapika.” His voice is edged with slight anxiety. There’s hardly space between them now, and the man’s confusion hangs heavily in the air. 

“ _ Kurapika, _ ” Kuroro purrs, tasting the name in his mouth. He reaches out a gloved hand and tilts Kurapika’s face upward. Up close, he can see the light dusting of freckles at the mortal’s nose, like explosions of stars scattered across his tan skin.  _ Perfect. _

“My lord?” There’s a note of question in the other’s tone, so innocent and curious, and Kuroro thinks about how  _ easy  _ it would be to take him right then. To whisk him away to the heavens to be his and his only for eternity. 

“Hm.” Releasing the man’s chin, he leans away slightly. Immediately, Kurapika relaxes. 

The hunger inside of him demands that he steal the exquisite youth away now, while he has the chance, but he knows that the other gods will punish him dearly for stealing away a tender of their temples against his will, especially one as radiant as Kurapika. 

So he will wait. He will carve into Kurapika like a river does a mountain —slowly, slowly. 

He’ll turn him to his cause until the youth will come with him willingly. Only then will Kuroro be free to take him away. 

_ But,  _ Kuroro thinks, eying the other’s face,  _ perhaps a little taste…  _

This kiss is sudden and hurried, and Kurapika stiffens in his hold before melting all-too-perfectly into his arms. Kuroro devours him, and yet the heady feeling does nothing to sate his appetite. 

Pulling away, every fibre of Kuroro’s being urges him to  _ take _ , but he ignores it. 

“Lucilfer,” Kurapika murmurs under his breath. “Lucilfer. That is who you are.”

Kuroro laughs, dark and foreboding. “That is one of many names, little mortal.”

The blond touches his lips, then, expression flickering with agitation. “What have you done —”

“Nothing I would not do again,” the god of thieves replies, smile a little too sharp to be human. 

And then he leaves, retreating back into the heavens. From there he watches the mortal look around in astoundment before hastily gathering up his tools and returning to the town. Return to his sister’s claim. 

Kuroro scowls at the thought. 

_ I will take you away from this soiled world, Kurapika, for you are too divine to remain on earth to wilt and perish under the whims of the gods like all others. That, I can promise you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think and comment any questions!


	4. day four: free day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> olympics au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> redid an old writing blurb that some of you might remember from last year... it was super gross so I changed nearly the entire thing, but it would be fun to know who remembers it.

“He’s staring at you again.”

Kurapika just rolls  his eyes, following through the basic stances as his sword swings gracefully along with him. Finally, once he realizes that the other boy isn’t going to leave without getting a response, he sighs.

  
“He can stare all he wants, Killua,” Kurapika scoffs, setting down his foil. “Doesn’t mean I’ll ever care to find out why.” 

  
“You’re telling me that a gold-medalist track star is checking you out and you don’t even want to go over and say hello?” The silver-haired boy’s disbelief is potent, and Kurapika raises a brow. The sprinter isn’t  _ ugly,  _ not with his athletic build and strong features, but Kurapika shoves down all attraction that he has because it’s  _ wrong. _

  
“In case you’re forgetting, we’re at the _ Olympics _ ,” Kurapika stresses. “And no, any attention from the same man who landed Leorio with a broken ankle is one-hundred-percent  _ unwelcome. _ ”  There’s an air of finality in his tone, and Kurapika is almost certain that the other will drop the subject when he feels a presence behind him. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?”

  
Killua nods, laughter straining at his l ips, before gleefully skipping away.

  
“First of all, there was no evidence that I was one the one that tripped that poor friend of yours,” the sprinter points out, sidling up next to the blond, “and second, I have a name.” Kurapika immediately frowns at the invasion space, but makes no indication of moving.  _ Moving would mean letting the him win. _

“Well don’t we all,” Kurapika retorts dryly. 

When it becomes clear that Kurapika isn’t going to ask for his name, the other man coughs awkwardly. “I’m Kuroro, in case you were wondering—”

“I wasn’t.”

“—and you are?”

Although Kurapika wants nothing more than to leave Kuroro hanging, he knows that he should at least be civil. “Kurapika.”

“Kurapika,” Kuroro  repeats, the name falling from his lips almost seductively, and involuntarily a shiver runs down his spine. Kurapika immediately regrets telling him. “Well,  _ Kurapika,  _ what do you say about you and I going on a date after your series is over in two days?”

Picking up his foil again, Kurapika smiles blithely. “Are you asking for you or your ego?”

Obviously, the other man is not used to being rejecting so quickly, because his smile falters for a moment. “Would it change your answer?”

“Hm,” Kurapika says, one hand reaching up to rest on his chin in fake ponderance and the other still going through maneuvers on the practice dummy in front of him. “Let me think...  _ no. _ ” To punctuate his answer, he stabs viciously at the mannequin.    
“Cold,” the dark-haired athlete replies, whistling. “You win this battle, darling. But don’t think I’ve given up on you.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kurapika mutters exasperatedly, but there’s a slight smile at lips anyway. 

Kuroro laughs, the sound echoing strangely in the blond’s ears, and walks away. 

* * *

There’s a bouquet of flowers waiting in his changing room when Kurapika comes back from his second match. The small bundle of amaryllis doesn’t look out of place in the pile of tokens from his admirers, but it’s the small black card attached to them that makes Kurapika pause. Inside a surprisingly elegant font curls in red ink.

_ Still waiting for a definite ‘yes or no.’ _

\- K. L. 

There’s a slip of paper taped to the inside of the card, and a phone number is written neatly on the sliver. Kurapika stifles a laugh. He had been pretty sure that he had sent a pretty clear message that he wasn’t interested the day before, but maybe not. Walking out of his room, he finds Kuroro outside, leaning against the wall. 

The other’s eyes brighten when he catches sight of him. 

“I thought I was pretty blunt about my intentions yesterday,” Kurapika says. Annoyance colors his words, but there’s no malice behind them. 

Kuroro pushes off of the wall to follow him. “Technically, you never addressed my original question. You just said that it wouldn’t change your answer.”

Kurapika turns to face him and tries to ignore how attractive Kuroro looks in the dimness of the hallway lights. “You broke Leorio’s ankle. What makes me think that you’re trustworthy?”

A glint of white as he smiles. “For all that it’s worth, I’m sorry about that. I can’t control where my spikes go when I run. And that friend of yours still placed third, so I don’t see the problem.”

“You’re insufferable,” Kurapika hisses. 

“Come to my race tomorrow,” Kuroro offers, “that way if I accidentally trip anyone you can have first access to kill me.” 

“Huh.” The fencer just shakes his head and walks away to his next match. 

“You have my number!” the sprinter calls after him. 

Kurapika sighs. “Doesn’t mean I’ll ever use it.”

* * *

Still, Kurapika finds himself sitting in the stands to watch the 400 meter race the next day after his final match. To the surprise of many, he had won against the long-standing gold-medalist Nobunaga. Seriously, the man had almost stabbed him for real afterwards with a samurai sword that he had somehow snuck into the arena. Either way, he had beaten that samurai-wannabe fair and square, and without sustaining stab wounds, too.

He tries to tell himself that he’s purely there for Leorio, but then Kuroro meets his eye at the starting blocks and winks. Immediately, Kurapika averts his eyes, feeling a blush crawl up his cheeks.  _ Stop it! _

The gun goes off and the runners leap up from their blocks. From the start, Kuroro falls ahead of the rest, closely tailed by Leorio. The first hundred passes, and then the second, and then the third. As they round the curve, it looks like Kuroro is going to win, but then the man does something inexplicable. Slowing almost imperceptibly, he lets the spike-covered foot of Leorio catch his leg, and Kurapika can only imagine the pain as Kuroro winces. 

Leorio almost stops to help, but Kuroro pushes him forward. 

The timer goes off and the crowd cheers as Leorio crosses the finish line, Kurapika shakes off the shock as he climbs over the rows of seats to meet the runners on the side of the field. 

“Guess we’re even now, huh?” Kurapika hears Kuroro say, smiling sheepishly as Leorio nods, out of breath. 

“Yeah.” Leorio’s grin widens as he sees the blond. “Kurapika!” 

But Kurapika can only offer his friend a quick smile before turning to Kuroro. “Why did you do that?”

“I kept my word,” the sprinter replies, looking a bit confused at the accusatory tone. 

The fencer gives the other man a long hard look before making his decision. 

Taking out a small piece of parchment, he scribbles something onto it. 

“What is this?” Kuroro asks as he accepts the slip. 

“My number,” Kurapika says, looking down. “You might need it if you’re taking me out tonight.”

A large smile breaks on the sprinter’s face. “So it’s a yes, then?” 

Kurapika’s face is bright red when he nods. “Yeah.”

And then Kuroro’s pulling him closer and they’re kissing. Kurapika’s pulse thrums heavy as he drinks up the roar of the crowds and the feeling of Kuroro’s lips moving over his own. They’re still kissing when a medic taps Kuroro on the shoulder to check out his leg, and the sprinter looks extremely reluctant and irritated until Kurapika practically shoves him over. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” he reminds him. 

The man looks downright euphoric as he smiles. “Yeah. Tonight.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess you could say that Kuroro got something much better than gold... ;)


	5. Soulmate AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Yorknew City Arc AU where Kurapika didn't feel to lower himself to murdering Uvogin, and instead must pay a ransom for the return of Gon and Killua after they are caught by the Phantom Troupe. Kurapika knows, as the countdown to the meeting of his soulmate drops lower and lower, that one of the Gen'ei Ryodan is his soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's not technically KuroKura week anymore but I've just converted the title to general KuroKura oneshots! Here's another soulmate AU, one where everyone has an invisible clock floating above their heads that indicates the amount of time until they meet their soulmate. Kurapika meets his, and isn't pleased.

The clock’s numbers flickered lower and lower. He had only minutes now.

 

“Are you sure… are you sure you don’t want to wait it out?” Leorio asked uneasily, hand faltering on the steering wheel.

 

Kurapika tossed the disguise aside. He had nothing to lose, anyway. One of those damned spiders was going to end up as his soulmate, whether he liked it or not. “It’s no use avoiding fate, Leorio,” he said wearily. Perhaps this was some sort of sick retribution. One last cruel joke that life would play on him.

 

God, he hoped it wasn’t Hisoka.

 

Oddly enough, he didn’t feel indignant or angry at the circumstances. Soulmates were no light business. After all, it was the universe itself that arranged the pairs. Who was he to judge that his soulmate would be a cold-hearted murderer and thief?

 

 _Oh, to hell with it._ Kurapika opened the car door, stepping out. Fuck fate. He wouldn’t fight it, but he sure as hell was going to give whatever gods were above a piece of his mind when he got the chance.

 

“Leave the second you get the kids, alright? Don't wait up for me,” he called over his shoulder. The doctor nodded, giving him one last look of concern before Kurapika slammed the door shut.

 

It was pouring raining outside, and it was just Kurapika’s luck that when he finally made it to the building, he was drenched. The nice button up that he had been wearing stuck paper-thin to his skin, and the suit jacket, the expensive one that Neon had insisted he buy, was irreparably damaged.

 

He could only imagine that he was making a great impression on the Phantom Troupe, looking like a half-drowned rat with double the murderous intent. Kurapika stalked towards them, scanning the group. His countdown was close, so it could very well any one of them.

 

One by one, he looked them in the eyes, listening for an alarm. It wasn’t the eyebrowless man or the crazy dental floss woman. Not the Big Man™, who was presently yelling that this, _this_ was the lady who had beat him up earlier. Kurapika’s eye twitched in annoyance at being mistaken once again for a woman, but he continued on nonetheless. After he went through the crowd, he breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he had been wrong. After all, this was all of them, right? All twelve of them…

 

“Shalnark, check the perimeter for the chain user, I know he’s--”

 

Two alarms went off, and Kurapika felt all color drain from his face as he watched the leader of the Phantom Troupe materialize into his field of vision. Oh god, he almost wished it had been Hisoka. _Almost._

 

The devil’s eyes met his own. “Oh,” Lucilfer managed, the sound quiet. Kurapika blinked, not even sure if what was happening was _actually_ happening.

 

Gon, who had remained silent through the whole exchange, suddenly gasped. “Woah! The emo guy is Kurapika’s mmph!” Killua clapped a hand on the other’s mouth, a hand that should _not_ have been free. The dental floss woman made a noise of surprise and moved to recapture him, but said ‘emo guy’ raised a hand to stop him.

 

“Let them go,” he ordered softly. Everything about the man’s voice was soft, pleasing, and Kurapika blinked a few times to clear his head. “After all, I think the ransom has been more than paid.” He gave the blond a meaningful look.

 

Big Man™ made a noise of protest, but eyebrowless man silenced him with a sharp look.

 

“Now,” the dark-haired man said,  turning to Kurapika, “I believe we have some things to discuss.”

 

For a few moments, Kurapika allowed himself to be lost in the other’s void-like stare. The pull that he felt towards that murderer was intense, so strong that Kurapika wanted nothing more than to wrap himself up in the other’s presence for eternity.

 

Oh, the universe _really_ knew how to fuck up his life.

 

Unconsciously, Kurapika made to step closer to the other man, but he stopped himself short. Snapping out of his daze, he blurted stupidly: “No thank you!” and then grabbed Gon and Killua’s hands and made a break for it. Surprisingly, no one moved to block his path, and he didn’t stop running until he reached the getaway car.

 

“So…” Leorio drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as they sped off into the busy streets of Yorknew. “How did it go.”

 

Kurapika pulled a wet lock of hair out of his face. “Fine,” he bit out.

 

“Fine?”

 

“Yeah, of course,” he said slowly. “I’m shackled for life to the orchestrator of my clan’s slaughter. Of course, it went fine!” Angrily, he buckled his seatbelt. Even though life was royally screwing him over, he was still going to abide to traffic laws.

 

Gon whispered something to Killua in the backseat, looking scared. Killua nodded in response.

 

Leorio cleared his throat. “That… is bad.”

 

An awkward silence filled the car for a moment.

 

“Yeah.”

 

They drove in silence for a few minutes, until Kurapika turned back to scan the streets.

 

“We should be good now,” he said, opening the car door.

 

“Okay--wait! What are you doing?” Leorio asked frantically. “The car is moving, for pete’s sake!”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Kurapika replied calmly. “I need to clear my head. I’ll meet you guys at the rendezvous in a few minutes.” Leaping out of the passenger’s seat before Leorio could protest, he ignored the surprised honk of the cars behind him as he walked to the pavement.

 

Taking a deep breath of the cold night air, Kurapika tipped his head back as he let rain slide down his cheeks. Even with the numerous sounds of the city crowding his ears, it felt too quiet without the comforting tick of his clock. Another reminder of his sick fate.

 

“You’ll catch your death out here, you know.”

 

Kurapika didn’t even bother to open his eyes.

 

“Life really hasn’t been doing it for me, so why not?”

 

A dark laugh, echoing off of the sidewalk. Kurapika didn’t mind the sound of it.

 

“I’m not disappointed, you know.”

 

The blond frowned, opening his eyes to see the Phantom Troupe leader just a few feet away.

 

“Disappointed?”

 

“About you. Being _mine_ ,” he clarified, a possessive edge to his words that made Kurapika freeze.

 

He wanted to scream at the other man. It wasn’t fair. Kurapika had lost everything, _everything_ to one Kuroro Lucilfer, and just when he had pieced together another life for himself he was expected to throw it all away for him again? His nen flared dangerously for a beat before he sagged in resignation. It was no use.

 

“Right.” That tiny little word seemed to break the last wall of defense inside of him.

 

Lucilfer pulled him close, and Kurapika let him. Being in the other’s arms felt right, somehow. The magnetism that he felt towards him guided Kurapika to wrap his arms around the other’s neck, placing his face in the other’s warm coat.

 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Lucilfer continued, words ricocheting off of Kurapika’s skin.

 

“You’re not.”

 

Another laugh, this time Kurapika was close enough to feel it rumble through the other’s chest. “Already, you know me so well.” Kurapika mustered up a strained smile, a frustrated sob stinging at the back of his throat.

 

“I’m not,” Lucilfer amended, “sorry for what I’ve done. I _am_ regretful of how much pain it caused for you, however.” The man leaned back, cupping Kurapika’s cheek. “A pain that I will spend the rest of my life making recompense for.”

 

 _You can’t,_ Kurapika wanted to say. A childish part of him argued that if Lucilfer wanted to please him so, he would just die. Just die and leave Kurapika alone. But he knew what happened to those who did not die with their soulmates. Empty husks of people, more dead than alive. A fate worse than death.

 

“How can you make amends when you cannot understand the wrong had committed in the first place?” Kurapika asked, voice oddly calm.

_A fate worse than death._

 

The chain tightened in his heart. To make Lucilfer feel the pain that he had, all those years ago…

 

Lucilfer tucked a strand of hair behind Kurapika’s ear, expression strangely open, _human,_ and the blond’s dark thoughts faltered.

 

“I have the Scarlet Eyes,” the Spider Head said instead. “Both pairs of them. And I can help you track down the rest, if it will give you closure.”

 

_One last journey. Mother, Father, Pairo. Once you rest, I can rest._

 

Kurapika swallowed, settling into the man’s embrace again. “Okay.” He nodded. “Okay.”

 

Kuroro kissed his forehead, gentle and full of affection. Real or not, Kurapika couldn't bring himself to care. For that one moment, in the grimy back-alley, the sounds of the city roaring around them, rain pouring overhead, Kurapika felt something close to peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel like I've created an interesting premise that I might expand upon later... let me know what you think!
> 
> Added Notes:
> 
> 1\. this was a one-hour writing challenge, so it's pretty loose but I hope it wasn't too hard to read  
> 2\. Big Man (trademark) = Uvogin, Eyebrowless Man = Phinks, Dental Floss lady = Machi  
> 3\. I twisted the Yorknew City canon a lot to get my fic to work, so please understand that I am aware of the inaccuracies and they're intentional in my AU!


	6. Hunchback of Notre Dame AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A loose Hunchback of Notre Dame AU. In which Kuroro is a lustful archdeacon, Kurapika is the pretty gypsy that catches his eye, Senritsu is a imprisoned servant, and Leorio shows up briefly as a love-struck knight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I finished my exams this week so wrote this kind-of-filthy oneshot! Please read the note at the end of the chapter because I have a question for you guys! I hope you like this small drabble!

_Like fire_  
_Hellfire_  
_This fire in my skin_  
_This burning_  
_Desire_  
_Is turning me to sin_

-  _Hellfire,_ from the Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)

 

* * *

 

Kuroro stared back at his reflection in the grimy mirror, determined as he buttoned his outer robes. His breath came out in misty clouds in the cold air and his face betrayed a red flush, and yet he refused to tend to the fireplace at the corner of his chambers. Perhaps, _perhaps_ , he could pretend the traitorous blush staining his skin was from the cold and nothing more. Tying a rosary to his belt, he tried to calm the trembling in his hands. He smoothed down his tunic, knowing that the dark, priestly fabric did nothing to choke out the fire burning deep in his stomach.

A fire that consumed him, tormented him.

He was a man of God, and this desire, this hunger, was that of the Devil. Giving in to the temptation, to this _lust,_ would be to deny the rules of Notre Dame. And yet… Kuroro wanted to tell himself that perhaps the pull he felt towards the man was love. Love of a pure kind, a love that would redeem his salacious thoughts.

And even if it was not… well, there were plenty of clergymen that satisfied vices much worse than his own.

He closed his eyes, willing the image of the blond gypsy man out of his head. During the day he could be strong, he could force himself to pretend that the man, _Kurapika,_ was his enemy, a contagion that must be exterminated to cleanse the streets of Paris. But at night, _at night,_ Kuroro’s dreams were filled of nothing but him.

In the dimness the man would beckon to him, the silkiness of his garments falling thinly against his chest and the jewels hanging from his ears flickering like beacons in the candlelight. Like a man possessed Kuroro would follow him, eyes drinking up the other’s soft curves and gleaming copper skin. Then, as if the gypsy could feel his heated gaze, he would turn suddenly, falling against Kuroro like a faint maiden, although Kuroro knew he was anything but. And Kuroro would be enveloped, intoxicated by the blond. The man’s scent, a heady mix of honey and amber, would flood his senses as he kissed him, mouth hot and sweet against his own.

The man would press against him, warm and pliant and _ready._ Moans would echo off of Kuroro’s neck as Kuroro stroked the firm planes of the gypsy’s hips, the man breathlessly urging him to go further. Obediently, Kuroro would comply, a slave to this seductive creature that writhed against him. The cold chains of the blond’s jewelry would dig impatiently into his feverish skin, but Kuroro would pay it no mind as his hands rid the both of them of their clothes. Then, kohl-lined blue eyes meeting his own, striking, the gypsy would spread his legs, expression full of lust _,_ and—

Then, always then, Kuroro would snap awake, cold in his stiff bed and _aching_ for the touch of something he could never have.

Kuroro took a shaky breath as he exited his rooms, looking over the cathedral’s balcony and down at the bustling city square below.

There, he could see the gypsy, dancing in the golden sunlight despite the cold. A crowd had formed around him, enchanted by the dancer’s beauty and voice. Kuroro longed to be among them, a longing that he hated himself for. He was about to turn away when he noticed a figure, standing at the front of the assembly. The Captain of the King’s Knights, a tall, well-built man who Kuroro had spoken to on occasion, watched the gypsy’s performance. Leorio was his name, if he remembered correctly, and the man seemed to have forgotten his duty to protect the city from such gypsy folk. Not that Kurapika was one of the common, unclean rabble; Kuroro had convinced himself of that now.

It was obvious why Leorio was so distracted, however, and something dark and ugly rose up at the back of Kuroro’s throat. Even though Kuroro was far away, the look of pure admiration and attraction shining on the knight’s face was plain to see. The gypsy was aware of the attention as well, sneaking quick glances at the handsome captain as he danced. The bright blush on the blond’s cheeks made Kuroro bite back a growl.

Kuroro swallowed harshly, fists clenched. This new jealousy bubbled unpleasantly in his chest, and Kuroro made his decision.

“Senritsu,” he called, softly but sternly. The disfigured woman came quietly into the room, her sweet features naively concerned.

“Yes, Monseigneur?” she prompted.

“Fetch that gypsy for me,” he ordered, pointing down to the streets.

“Him?” Senritsu questioned, as if trying to figure out Kuroro’s motives.

Kuroro exhaled sharply. “Yes. Him. Now please,” he bid, making a dismissive motion. The woman quickly left him to his thoughts.

He would have the blond, now. The gypsy that had eluded him for so long would finally be in his grasp. The man would not refuse him. Kuroro knew that he was not an unattractive man, and he was agreeable in character, was he not? Surely, he would be permitted to have him. And once he had him, Kuroro was not sure that he would ever let him go.

 _Yes,_ he thought darkly, _this is love._

 

* * *

 

 

 

That night, as he dreamed, he was not woken up as he usually was.

That night, as the gypsy offered himself, he did not disappear. Instead, the man pulled him closer, whispering shameless promises and voiceless cries as Kuroro worked him open. The gypsy gasped as Kuroro hit a place within him, a hot sound that made the dark-haired man lose control. And so Kuroro drove into the delicate man, pleasure singing in his veins as he watched the blond transformed from a simple dancer to a primal being of ecstasy. The man gasped out praises, the very picture of debauchery as he begged Kuroro for more. He obliged him, nipping at the soft juncture of the other’s neck as he took him deeper.

Then, just as he neared the end of their joining, he was jolted awake by a sharp rap at his door.

“Monseigneur?” Senritsu’s called. Kuroro was about to give a frustrated groan when Senritsu continued. “I have brought the gypsy that you requested.” A faint noise of struggling sounded from beside the woman.

The scowl on the archdeacon’s face melted away, replaced with an expression of anticipation. He rose and put on his robes, the metal of his prayer beads glinting reproachfully. Glancing back at his reflection one more time, he cleared his throat.

“Bring him in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kuroro is really creepy. Whatever happens next is up to the reader's interpretation. Unless I make a part two. 
> 
> Hey so I'm thinking of writing a Phantom of the Opera AU for this pairing, and I wanted to know if you guys would be interested in reading something like that. And also if there any mutuals who would be up to help me out with it. Please let me know what you think/ideas in the comments!


	7. Hunchback of Notre Dame pt. ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is it that you want from me?”
> 
> The man sauntered closer, and Kurapika hazarded a step backward. “What is it that I want from you?” Lucilfer echoed, gaze heated. Warmth colored Kurapika’s face as he pieced together the answer.
> 
> “Oh,” he managed, mouth dry. “I—”
> 
> OR:
> 
> A self-indulgent continuation of the Notre Dame AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was supposed to start wrapping up the next chapter of the Sun Also Rises, but I just couldn't get this AU out of my head! This chapter is totally not written in the same style as the last one, but oh well. The whole premise of the continuation was pretty much me wondering how far I could twist the character's personalities to be as far from canon as possible but still recognizable, so this jumbled mess was the result! A storyline explanation is at the end of the chapter. I hope you like it!

Kurapika struggled, the cold metal of the shackles biting his skin. The woman, his captor, led him with a gentle hand, her reluctance obvious. He didn’t remember much of his capture except the sight of her face, hovering over his bound form. Her features, although strange and contorted, looked kind. So, despite his anger at being stolen away, he found himself unwilling to actually fight himself free.

“Please,” she told him quietly, “be still.” Her voice was soothing, and Kurapika found himself quieting. “I do not know what he wants you for,” she continued, looking determinedly ahead, “but I know that he is not unreasonable. So please, do not make trouble.”

The blond’s hands twitched. “And who has sent for me, exactly? To necessitate such measures?” He gestured vaguely to his bindings. The woman pressed her lips into a flat line and did not answer. She stopped at a door at the end of the hall.

Knocking, she called out, “Monseigneur? I have brought the gypsy you requested.”

At the mention of his title, cold dread seized Kurapika, and he fought against the chains. He did not know much of the archdeacon, the holy man with a name sounding of the devil, but his people understood that he wished to purge them from the streets of Paris. Was that why he had been captured, then? To be tortured to give up the safety of his clan?

A firm grip on his wrist halted him, again, and he found himself looking into the woman’s concerned eyes.

“I will be waiting at the end of the hall,” she informed him calmly. “If he does anything to harm you—and I do not think that he will—I will hear.” With that, she opened the door, nudging him in.

Kurapika walked into the room, steps unsure. The chambers were large, with windows opening to the city, but the furnishings were sparse. A simple iron bed frame bolted to the floors, and two chests pressed against the adjacent wall. A hearth lay cold in one corner, and Kurapika shivered at the temperature.

“Kurapika,” a voice bid from behind him. Kurapika spun to face its owner. The archdeacon stood a few feet away from him, an amused smile playing on his lips. The man looked strange, not at all the man of God that Kurpika had been expecting. He was dressed in only his inner robes—fitted slacks and a thin linen shirt.

“Monseigneur Lucilfer, I presume,” he found himself replying, tone flat.

“Please,” Lucilfer said, drawing out the syllable, “call me Kuroro.” Kurapika suppressed his confusion.

“I’d rather not, thank you,” the blond stated quickly. “What is it that you want from me?”

The man sauntered closer, and Kurapika hazarded a step backward. “What is it that I want from _you_?” Lucilfer echoed, gaze heated. Warmth colored Kurapika’s face as he pieced together the answer.

“Oh,” he managed, mouth dry. “I—”

Lucilfer moved closer, until they were pressed chest to chest. “You are bewitching,” he breathed, lips inches away from Kurapika’s ear, “and I must have you.” The gypsy tore away from him.

“You must?” Kurapika repeated, shocked at his arrogance, his bold assumptions. “You will _not_.”

The man’s smile only widened. “Then I will make a deal with you,” he said, closing the distance between them once more. “Let me have you, and I will keep you safe.” He caressed his cheek, touch feather-light. “The streets of Paris are no place for someone as heavenly as you.”

“That is not for you to decide,” the gypsy replied, breathing shaky as a hand trailed down to stroke his neck. Lucilfer only laughed, dark and foreboding.

“Maybe not. But perhaps you would be more… _inclined,_ if I were to offer a safe passage into the countryside for your people?”

Kurapika’s expression smarted. “Why should we want to leave the city?” he asked.

Lucilfer’s eyes glinted. “It is a better alternative than staying.” Kurapika swallowed nervously at the threat.

“And if I do not agree to your offer?”

The archdeacon stepped back, eyes blazing. “Then your people will burn, and I will have you anyway.”

“I see.”

Lucilfer grinned, certain of his answer.

The gypsy’s eyes flicked from the empty shackles hanging at the archdeacon’s waist up to Lucilfer’s hungry gaze. Kurapika licked his lips, not missing how the other’s eyes followed the motion.

Kurapika sighed inwardly. He was all too accustomed to using his looks to gain the upper hand, but still, his pride recoiled at the thought of offering himself up so easily.  He was out of options, _unless…_

Moving towards the taller man, he let the silkiness of his chemise slip past his shoulders, revealing more of himself to the man’s heated stare. He undid the laces of his shirt unhurriedly, sensing the man’s anticipation and holding it. Kurapika took the transfixed man’s hand and placed it against his bare skin, letting it slide down his chest. Lucilfer’s breath caught.

Kurapika peered up at him from under his lashes with practiced shyness. Then, slowly, he leaned in as Lucilfer dipped to meet him, brushing an innocent, sweet kiss to the man’s lips.

Lucilfer shuddered at the contact, a strong arm circling Kurapika’s middle to crush the blond to his chest. Kurapika couldn’t help the gasp that escaped at the sudden show of passion, and the other took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Lucilfer devoured him, all teeth and fire and tongue. There was no gentleness to his actions, and yet something stirred deep in Kurapika’s stomach. Unconsciously, Kurapika pressed closer to him, and Kuroro broke off the kiss, giving a low hiss of pleasure as he jerked at his touch.

The gypsy marveled at the priest’s lack of restraint, his roughness, the thought of it making him shiver. Kuroro pulled the two of them flush together, attacking the vulnerable curve of Kurapika’s neck with fervor. Open-mouthed kisses trailed down his neck, demanding and impatient. Kurapika tipped his head back to give him better access, a needy whine leaving him as teeth whispered against his throat. He felt warm all over, restless in his own skin.

He coaxed Kuroro’s hands forward, away from his belt. The dark-haired man groaned, gripping the gypsy’s hips as he rocked into him. Kuroro’s hand was hot from where it clutched his upper thigh, lifting it higher to wrap around the man’s waist.

Kurapika gasped, the sound high and breathy, as Kuroro thrust shallowly against him. The blond was pliant in the other’s arms now, as Kuroro teased the soft skin at his throat. Kurapika’s thoughts of escaping became blurrier as the man kissed low on his chest, drawing another choked moan from the gypsy as he pressed harder against Kurapika’s ass. He wanted nothing more than for the layers of cloth separating them to disappear, for the other man to take him for real, but he knew that Lucilfer would not be one for a quick fuck. The passion that drove his movements would sooner turn to hate than love.

He reminded himself of his plan, trying not to get distracted by what marvelous thing Kuroro was doing with his tongue. The other man reached for the buttons of his trousers, placing a biting kiss on Kurapika’s lips. The blond seized his chance.

Diverting Lucilfer’s attention away with a skilled roll of his hips, Kurapika guided the man’s wrists to the cold iron of the bedpost. The shackles clicked into place, and the gypsy sprung back.

Kurapika wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, mustering up a glare at the trapped man. Lucilfer looked at him in shock for a moment, eyes glazed with lust, before snapping out of his daze and lunging forward. Metal creaked dangerously, but the bedpost did not give.

Kurapika wasn’t going to take the chance. He sprinted to the door, throwing it open, expecting the other man to scream at him.

When he heard nothing, the gypsy risked a glance backward.

The man strained his bonds, but his expression was calm, assured. Gaze boring into the blond, he smiled.

“This isn’t over, my love,” Lucilfer said, the quiet confidence in his words making Kurapika shiver. “You will be back. You need me, although you do not realize it yet. God has brought us together, and together we shall be.” There was a far-off look in the other’s eyes, an eerie light that made Kurapika’s throat constrict. Turning away, he ran down the hall.

The woman from before looked up in surprise as he took her hand, leading her down the stairs.

“What—what are you doing?” she asked. “Where’s the Monseigneur?”

Kurapika stopped for a moment to face her. “We need to get out of here,” he said urgently. “The Monseigneur is currently bound to the bedpost, and I… I couldn’t leave you here to face the consequences.”

“The bedpost?” The woman’s eyes widened as she processed the situation. “My God! I would never have let you alone with him if I knew!”

“Exactly. Which is why I will not leave you either.” Kurapika tugged her back into motion, missing the blush that swept across her features. “What is your name?”

“Senritsu,” she answered after a pause. “Where will we go?”

Kurapika pushed past the servant’s entrance and into the street. “I—I have a friend that we can turn to, for now.” His heart beat faster at the thought of the man, at his kindness.

“His name is Leorio Paladiknight,” he added. “Now come, we must hurry.”

* * *

Kuroro released himself from the shackles after he found the key laying on the mattress an arm-lengths away. Really, the gypsy was too kind.

Although the blond had run away, Kuroro was sure that he would return. The way the other man had melted at his touch, so responsive… hot desire flooded Kuroro’s veins at the thought. The man did not know it yet, but they were joined together by fate. He had seen the flush on the other’s skin, felt the man’s arousal as he pressed warm against him. Even if Kurapika’s mind resisted, his body betrayed him.

Kuroro would have him, one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added Notes:  
> 1\. Kurapika is definitely not a virgin in this. Kuroro probably is... him being a priest or whatever and all, but I guess he's a quick learner? I was actually going to put a part about Kurapika wondering how Kuroro is so good at the whole seduction thing, but that bit broke up the already-choppy flow of the chapter. 
> 
> 2\. Senritsu is an absolute queen, and nobody can tell me otherwise.
> 
> 3\. Kurapika is absolutely attracted to Kuroro, because I guess the dark, intense type is super hot, but he really doesn't trust him/knows that he's probably a little insane. And he's not wrong, really.
> 
> 4\. Kuroro has done a total 180 degree turn from the last chapter. It's part of his rationalizing of his 'forbidden attraction' (READ: his horniness), and his kind of unhinged obsession backs it up 100%. 
> 
> So I don't think I'll make another installment of this AU for a while, because the premise was supposed to be a oneshot initially and I have a billion other ideas to write out, but I'll include a general outline for the next sequence of events:  
> \- Kurapika + Senritsu meet up with Leorio, who is smitten with Kurapika and totally a nice (if not a little foolhardy and brash) guy. Senritsu kind of has a thing for Kurapika, but doesn't say anything about it. Leorio and Kurapika get to be all cute and stuff as they try to get the gypsies out of Paris safely, because Kuroro got a little petty and decided to put a kill order out for all gypsies in the city. Then Kuroro finds Kurapika again and they do their little sexual tension bit except this time more intensely, and then Kurapika remembers his objectives + Leorio and Senritsu and refuses Kuroro again. Kuroro gets impatient and threatens to kill everyone (what else is new?). Then the rest I haven't really thought out, but there are two possibilities: A) Kurapika gives in and submits to Kuroro in order to save his friends. A bit of a darker ending, because he's stuck in Notre Dame for a long time, but his people escape Paris and Leorio+Senritsu are safe, although the two don't really get over him. B) Kurapika basically tells Kuroro to go fuck himself and he runs back to Leorio + Senritsu, and a lot of shit goes down. In the end, though, Kuroro dies/is persuaded to stop and Leorio confesses his love or whatever while Senritsu realizes that she loves Kurapika more platonically than romantically. The End. 
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think of this chapter/story in the comments!
> 
> \- unreadable0 :)


	8. my god, my boss is a dream demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was too dark to see, but he could feel the man’s warm breath steady at his ear. Kurapika’s heart beat rapidly, like a bird trapped within a cage. Hands gripped his waist, firm but not bruising. The blond was about to lash out of the other’s grip when a pair of lips settled at the curve of his neck. His thoughts stuttered. The man’s scent washed over him, an intoxicating mix of cloves and spice and some sort of musk that made Kurapika’s head swim. The stranger breathed in deeply, letting out a pleased hum, and Kurapika suppressed a shiver.
> 
> Placing a lingering kiss to his shoulder, the man pulled away. “Finally,” he murmured into Kurapika’s ear, “I’ve found you.”
> 
> OR:
> 
> Kurapika's not sure why he's dreaming about his boss. Starring sleep-deprived Kurapika, might-be-a-dream-demon Kuroro, and a brief cameo with Leorio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh gosh I didn't edit this at all, and I honestly couldn't decide whether I wanted this oneshot to be serious or cliche or cracky, so it's a trippy mix of both. I hope you don't find it too off-putting, but I definitely need to go to sleep now.

_Kurapika was running. His lungs burned and his arms scratched against the sharp branches as he pushed through the trees, but he couldn’t stop. Something was chasing him; that he knew. Panic raced through his veins, laced with fear and just a hint of excitement. A part of him wanted to stop, to just let whatever it was catch him, but his body refused to obey. The footsteps grew louder,_ closer, _and Kurapika stumbled over himself. An arm circled his waist, and he stifled a scream._

_It was too dark to see, but he could feel the man’s warm breath steady at his ear. Kurapika’s heart beat rapidly, like a bird trapped within a cage. Hands gripped his waist, firm but not bruising. The blond was about to lash out of the other’s grip when a pair of lips settled at the curve of his neck. His thoughts stuttered. The man’s scent washed over him, an intoxicating mix of cloves and spice and some sort of musk that made Kurapika’s head swim. The stranger breathed in deeply, letting out a pleased hum, and Kurapika suppressed a shiver._

_Placing a lingering kiss to his shoulder, the man pulled away. “Finally,” he murmured into Kurapika’s ear, “I’ve found you.” Something in the man’s voice sounded familiar, but Kurapika’s mind ran too sluggish for him to find out what. Instead, he leaned backwards into the man’s embrace, earning him a light laugh._

_Kisses rained down onto the vulnerable skin of Kurapika’s neck, and the faint rasp of teeth and tongue had him arching against the stranger. Fingers mapped out the skin of Kurapika’s chest, teasing a gasp from his lips. Kurapika felt a distant twinge of embarrassment at his eagerness, but then the man’s mouth did something wonderful and soon he was flushed and aching for his touch._

_“So sensitive,” the man mused, nipping at Kurapika’s pulse. A low moan escaped from his throat unbidden, and the man shuddered at the sound. The other’s tone turned heated and husky, and he tugged Kurapika back until their bodies were flush against each other._

_“Oh,_ Kurapika _,” he breathed. Kurapika’s eyes widened. He knew that voice..._

Kurapika bolted upright in bed, nearly hitting his head on the low ceiling of his apartment. “What the actual _fuck_ ,” he said aloud, clutching his forehead. The pipes in the walls groaned back sympathetically. He shook his head, trying to banish the yet another confusing dream from his head. Running a hand over his face, he sighed. He had been dreaming about his _boss._ “I’m going crazy,” he whispered to himself. “My god, I’m finally losing it.”

He glanced at his clock. _7:08 am._

Well, at least he wasn’t going to be late.

Untangling himself from his sheets, Kurapika stomped into his cramped bathroom. Furiously, he brushed his teeth.

“Get your shit together,” he ordered his reflection, spitting out his toothpaste. “You want this promotion, because your apartment is shitty and you need money to pay back your student loans. Don’t fuck this up.”

His reflection said nothing in reply, glaring.

Kurapika showered and tugged on his usual suit. “Maybe this is why I don’t have any money,” he said to himself, “because this job makes me buy _designer_ suits.”

Still grumbling, he grabbed his briefcase and stepped out of his apartment to catch the morning train.

* * *

“Did you get _any_ sleep last night?”

Kurapika cocked a brow at his coworker. “Some of us don’t get the nice 9-to-5 workday, Leorio.”

The man snorted, stirring his coffee. “That’s what you get for entering the detective field, agent.” His expression went serious. “But seriously, Kurapika, you should really get more sleep. Your eyebags seem to have gotten bags of their own.”

The blond decided to be a mature adult and flipped him off. “Got anything else to annoy me about, Leorio? You have about” —he checked his watch— “two minutes to get your closing insults in.” The medic laughed.

"I'm done, I'm done," Leorio assured him jokingly. "But on another note, what is up with the boss these past few months?" 

Kurapika shushed him. "Jesus, Leorio. You never know who's listening." Kuroro's little 'posse,' as Leorio had affectionately dubbed them, were everywhere, always ready to turn in anyone who talked shit about their boss. 

Leorio put his hands up in mock-surrender. "I'm just saying. He's been acting weirder than usual. Walking around with worse eyebags than yours and always muttering to himself," he said, frowning. "If you ask me, I think he's finally lost it."

"The Kakin murder case has been hard on all of us," Kurapika said thoughtfully, taking a sip from his mug. "Can't blame him for feeling like he's got a few screws loose. God knows I'm feeling it too." Leorio opened his mouth to retort, but then a voice called out to him. 

 _Oh fuck me,_  he thought to himself. Kuroro Lucilfer walked towards him, not-so-subtly eyeing Leorio with thinly-veiled irritation.  _On second thought, don’t._ Now that Leorio had mentioned it, Kurapika couldn't help but notice how much paler Kuroro looked, and the dark circles under his eyes were certainly new. 

"Mr. Paladiknight, don't you have patient logs to file?" Kuroro reminded him sharply, and Leorio choked on his coffee. The man's eyes flickered to Kurapika, expression softening. "Kurapika," he greeted, and there was a wistful note to it that made Leorio raise his eyebrows. 

"Mr. Lucilfer," he replied, dipping his head in acknowledgement. The man didn't say anything else, too busy staring at Kurapika in what had to be the most uncharacteristically dopey way possible. Leorio continued to looked between the two of them, face contorting into a comically confused expression. 

 _What the hell,_  Leorio mouthed silently. 

The blond kept his expression carefully blank, but the other's odd behavior was starting to concern him. “Yes?” he prompted pointedly. “What can I help you with?”

Kuroro’s gaze never left his face, and Kurapika stuffed down the urge to fidget. “I want to talk to you about some of the case files in my office, _alone_." Kuroro dutifully ignored Leorio's exclamation of ' _Hell no!'_ in favor of looking at Kurapika expectantly. Kurapika swallowed, images of his dream from the previous night flickering in his mind. 

“Of course,” he agreed neutrally, and he was rewarded with a hint of a smile. _I’ll talk to you later,_ he mouthed to Leorio, before picking up his folder and following the man into his office.

The door had barely closed before Kuroro had him pressed up against it, kissing him within an inch of his life. That wondrous mix of cologne and musk was back, and Kurapika felt like he was drowning in it. Kurapika dropped his notes with an audible thump, and Kuroro made a satisfied noise as Kurapika began to respond. He moaned as Kuroro’s teeth caught his lower lip, gripping his suit jacket as the man’s tongue swept into his mouth. Kuroro pulled him even closer, a hand landing warm at Kurapika’s hipbone. When they finally came up for air, Kuroro sagged on top of him, pressing his face into Kurapika’s neck.

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Kuroro whispered lowly, words buzzing against Kurapika’s skin. Kurapika blinked once, twice, as awareness flooded his system. Kuroro mouthed against his neck, and Kurapika bit back a moan. "I haven't been able to sleep for weeks," he growled, "with you so close to me. God, _Kurapika_ —”

Kurapika pushed him away, licking his lips nervously.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, his voice coming out less even than usual. Kuroro didn’t seem fazed by his reaction, choosing instead to watch him attentively. Kurapika’s mouth flattened into a firm line. “I swear, if you think that I’d be willing to _sleep with you_ to get that promotion, Lucilfer, you’re one egotistical bastard—”

“That’s not it.”

Kurapika stopped mid-rant. “What?”

The dark-haired man’s expression shifted through a multitude of emotions before settling on vague amusement. “I thought the dream would have tipped you off.”

The blond fought back a blush. “What dream?” he said, although the slight quaver in his voice betrayed him. Kuroro grinned, eyes burning hotter. The man closed the distance between them.

Kuroro laughed, and Kurapika could feel the sound rumbling through his chest. "You know what," he said. "I made it for you. To find you." He smiled, looking worn out. "It took so long. I looked everywhere but here," he explained, running a finger down Kurapika's cheek. "But none of that matters now."

Kurapika didn't trust himself to speak. He was confused, and he was halfway certain that Kuroro had gone insane, but being so close to other man was intoxicating. Kurapika didn’t dare move as Kuroro slid a hand up to cup his jaw, gaze full of intent.

“You think this is about your job?” Kuroro asked, their lips just inches apart. He leaned in, capturing Kurapika’s lips delicately. The kiss quickly turned heated, _hungry,_ and Kurapika gasped at the loss when Kuroro pulled away. The man's voice took on an inhuman quality to it as he continued, like the sound of television static. “None of that matters,” he said, voice thick with emotion and something else. “I’ve found you, after so many months of searching. I’ve found you, and you’ve been right in my sight the entire time.” Kuroro’s lips were firm but soft against his own, and Kurapika sighed, letting him in. The man’s hands slid up his shirt, seizing his waist. 

“I’ve found you, and I’m never letting you go,” he finished, grip tightening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bleh that was so cliche, sorry
> 
> Added Notes:
> 
> 1\. Basically Kuroro is a dream demon who's been looking for his soulmate/whatever. He knew that they were someone, so he entered a lot of people's dreams to investigate at the expense of his energy, which is why Leorio talks about how he looks super ill and gross. 
> 
> 2\. Kurapika doesn't have that much contact with Kuroro prior to this because he just entered the detective agency a year ago and Kuroro was super busy first with the opening of the Kakin murder case (it's Tserriednich again hahahaha) and then because he was trying to find his soulmate/whatever. Kurapika has talked to him numerous times tho because of the casework, so he knows him (kind of)
> 
> 3\. Kuroro's 'posse' is the PT 
> 
> 4\. What happens next is honestly up to the reader. I really need to sleep so I am barely coherent right now.


	9. pay the price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika wasn’t supposed to be his soulmate. Now Kuroro has to pay the price.

“What do I do now?” The desperation in his voice surprises Kuroro, but he can’t bring himself to care anymore. Not when a cavity yawns empty and painfully _wrong_ in his chest. 

The soothsayer tuts. Her eyes hold a strange heaviness, as if she’s seen cases like his way too many times. “You wait for death.” She casts him a searching look. “It won’t be a long wait, that I can assure you. Most people don’t stick around for more than a few months after they lose them.”

A few months still sounds like _eons_ to Kuroro. “Do I have to wait?” His question comes out plaintive and suddenly Kuroro feels like a little boy again. 

The woman’s expression softens. “No,” she tells him, more kindly than before, “but I would. It will give you some time to think.”

“I don’t need more time to think,” Kuroro replies, bitter. “All that I’ve done in the past few weeks is think—” he cuts himself off, trying to regain what little composure he has left. “I can’t stop.” _I can’t stop thinking about him._

During the day Kuroro can’t escape him, not when reminders of the blond remain scattered everywhere he looks. And at night, memories of his lover’s touch, the soft, slightly hoarse way that he would call his name on those particularly late nights, haunt him. 

 _It’s torture,_ he wants to say. 

“Consider it your penance.” She purses her lips and Kuroro wonders how it has all come to this.

“When it comes time for you to see him again, you better grovel and beg for his forgiveness, or else you’re as damned as they come.”

 _I already am._ “I don’t care,” Kuroro admits. “Just seeing him again. That will be enough.” He’s selfish, so selfish, for wanting this, but Kuroro has never been one to deny himself. 

Once the woman leaves, a neutral ‘ _good luck_ ’ at her lips, Kuroro allows himself to break. It seems that that is all he can do, now. The weakness that he feels makes him want to scream at the unfairness of it all, but he knows that it is his own fault. 

Kurapika wasn’t supposed to be his soulmate. Now Kuroro has to pay the price. 

* * *

_Lukso, two weeks prior…_

Kuroro presses harder, watching curiously as the blond stops struggling, his scarlet eyes welling with angry, hurt tears. The man’s hand scrabbles uselessly at the Spider’s iron grip, nails scraping at skin, but Kuroro hardly feels it. He’s too caught up in the ethereal ruby glow reflecting in the other’s irises, the vibrant hue made brighter by what Kuroro assumes is exertion. There are hundreds of shades hidden in those eyes, each one shifting and undulating in a maddening dance. The sight takes his breath away, really. 

The man’s pulse beats quick under Kuroro’s hand, like a bird trapped within a cage, before it too, grows weaker.

Kuroro supposes that it is poetic justice, killing the man in the same place that he had once massacred his people. 

The poignant look of betrayal that is plastered on the Kurta’s face is striking and Kuroro feels something shift uncomfortably beneath his skin, but he ignores it. He thinks of his fallen comrades as he tightens his grip, a perverse kind of satisfaction overtaking him as the light within the other’s eyes fades. Kuroro only lets go once Kurapika’s eyes stare, glassy and unseeing, back at him. 

For a moment, he considers taking those luminous eyes with him, but decides against it. They wouldn’t look right, he tells himself, without the lively fire burning behind them. He runs a finger down the man’s cheek, an unfamiliar sensation welling up inside of him. 

The blond’s face looks peaceful, the ever present furrow of his brow smoothed out. If not for the awkward angle of his neck, he would appear sleeping. 

Kuroro tries to convince himself that he did the right thing. He tries to visualize the Kurta as his enemy, the man who killed his comrades without remorse and who sealed away his nen—his life—for months. 

But all he can remember is the shy curve of his smile whenever he thought Kuroro wasn’t looking. He tries to think of the cold of the man’s chains wrapped around his heart, but instead he feels the phantom of his warmth wrapped around him; the steady rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps beside him. 

 _“I’ll kill you, one day,”_ the man used to say, even as his face flushed, eyes glowing red as Kuroro kissed up the length of his thigh. 

Kuroro would always smile, all teeth, and reply, _“Not if I get to you first, darling.”_

The Spider tries not to think too hard about the Kurta’s last words to him. The forgiveness that gentled his movements as he led Kuroro into his childhood home, moments before Kuroro’s hands found their home wound around his neck. 

 _“This is where we start over,”_ he had said.

It’s more of an ending than a beginning now, Kuroro supposes, as the man lies pale above the graves of his brethren. 

Kuroro places one last kiss on the other’s lips on pure impulse, tasting the copper of his blood on his tongue. He swirls its sweetness around in his mouth, trying to imprint the flavor in his mind. 

Kuroro walks away quietly. He assures himself that he doesn’t regret his actions, but there’s something wrong sitting his chest. He can’t quite put a finger on it, the insistent but faint feeling of emptiness. It isn’t until he makes it out onto the main road that it hits him.

He falls to his knees, pain seizing his body. Pain like he’s never felt it, crawling up from his lungs and into his throat. Cold fire races through his veins, burning away something, _something_ within him. The sun is suddenly too bright, the sky too blue for his eyes to handle. Kuroro squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back a shout.

It feels like some part of him is dying. 

And then it’s gone, as quickly as it came. Kuroro curls into himself. 

A weight sinks heavy in Kuroro’s heart as realization strikes him. He knows what has happened and yet he opens his eyes anyway.

His world is black and white now, a tasteless grey that swims through Kuroro’s head. A sudden urge to cry out overtakes him and a wrecked sob escapes his lips before he can stop it. He scrambles to stand, sprinting back to the place where he left Kurapika’s body. 

His lover lies sprawled out in the grass, a golden light that Kuroro can no longer see painting his features with an ethereal glow.

Kuroro kneels down next to him as a different man. Remorse and guilt force another heaving gasp from his chest and Kuroro has never felt so helpless, so lost, in his life. He looks down at his hands, at the crescent-shaped marks scratched into the skin. The ugly bruises marring the smooth skin of Kurapika’s throat glare accusingly up at him and Kuroro has never wanted to take back something so badly. 

He’s stolen something that he can never return. That much is clear in the way Kurapika’s head lolls lifelessly against his shoulder. 

Still, he clutches Kurapika’s body to his chest. Kuroro isn’t used to begging and the words _please, please, please,_ feel awkward in his mouth, but he swallows back the strangeness as he pleads with whatever high beings that reside above to _let him wake up._

But Fate has never been more cruel, and Kurapika remains cold and still in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm evil + didn't edit this whatsoever. Let me know what you thought of this one!
> 
> Context for this soulmate au: When a person's soulmate dies, their other half loses their perception of color. It's like a flip-flop of the "when you touch your soulmate you suddenly see the world in color" au. You don't know who your soulmate is until they die, basically.


	10. aladdin au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aladdin AU. With Leorio as Aladdin, Kurapika as the prince(ss), and Chrollo as the sidelined and scheming vizier.

“ _Shit, shit, shit!_ ”

Gon frowned at the other man’s language. “If you hadn’t stolen that artifact from those thieves, Leorio, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” the boy admonished. 

“You can’t steal what didn’t belong to the owners in the first place! If you steal something that’s already been stolen, the stealing cancels out!” Leorio exclaimed. 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Gon muttered to himself. 

 “Yeah, whatever,” Leorio said absently, sneaking a quick look behind him. “Crap! They’re getting closer!” Grabbing the younger boy’s arm, Leorio quickened his pace, weaving in and out of the jumbled network of streets as they went. 

“There!” Gon shouted, pointing to a nearby clearing with throngs of people milling around in large clumps. “The agora!”

The pair dove into the crowd, hoping that with their drab clothing they’d be able to blend in. Thankfully, most of the people in the open marketplace were too busy haggling with the merchants or talking with their companions to notice two more unkempt and frankly unscrupulous-looking teens entering the space. 

When it appeared that their pursuers were no longer hounding them, Leorio breathed a huge sigh of relief as Gon shoved his hands into his pockets. 

“Why did you have to steal that thing, anyway?” he asked. 

Leorio raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t remember?”

The other shook his head, expression bright and honest. Leorio sighed.

“You really need to work on hiding your emotions better, kid,” he advised. 

“Hey! I’m only two years younger than you!” 

“My point exactly. Now, about the ‘thing’ that I _rescued,_ I really wasn’t lying about how the thieves didn’t own it themselves. It’s some sort of heirloom of the royal court or something. There’s a heavy reward for anyone that returns it. Pretty weird people, those royals.”

“No kidding,” Gon murmured, “what kind of heirloom is a pair of _eyeballs_?”

“You think I’d know?”

The spiky-haired boy continued, “So we’re just going to give it back, then?”

“Hell no!” Leorio tapped his jacket pocket. “This baby is worth double the reward money on the black market! We’d be set for months!”

“But that’s not the right thing to do,” Gon replied uneasily. Leorio inwardly slapped himself. _Curse this child’s inherent good nature._

Fixing the other with a skeptical look, Leorio let out an exasperated huff. “Look, morals don’t put food on the table.” Doing the right thing hadn’t kept his friend alive, either. He’d learned that a long time ago. 

“Is Pietro — “

“He’s fine,” Leorio snapped back, with more force than necessary. Gon deflated a bit.

“Do you at least still have the eyes?” Gon asked instead, reluctance evident in his tone. He wasn’t going to try to stop the older man, because he, too, had mouths to feed, but he wasn’t going to take any pride in it, either.

“Yeah.” Leorio tugged the glass case out of his tattered outer-robes. Right as he took them out, however, the contents glowed impossibly bright, like a beacon. 

It wouldn’t have been a problem if it hadn’t attracted the attention of a certain band of thieves. Big, strong, _pissed-off_ thieves. 

“Well, shit,” Leorio whispered, watching the criminals slink into the crowds. _Run,_ he mouthed to Gon, and the two of them sprinted out of the market square as quickly as they could. 

 _Back to square one,_ Leorio thought bitterly to himself. 

Racing into the narrow alleyways, Leorio cursed to himself when his back hit a wall. The wall separating the glittering royal castle and the sprawling slums of the peasants, to be exact. 

“Leorio, what do we do?” Gon asked frantically, the heavy sounds of incoming footsteps echoing ominously against the cobbled pavement. 

Hands scrabbling frantically against the stone walls, Leorio cried out in relief when a single stone gave way, leaving an entrance barely big enough for the both of them to squeeze through. 

“That’s oddly convenient,” Gon murmured, peering inside. 

“Don’t question it,” Leorio responded, shoving the other boy through before climbing in himself. 

Thankfully, the drop was only a couple feet, and Leorio wasted no time plugging the stone back in as the horde of angry thieves came into view through the gap in the wall. 

“That was close,” Gon breathed. For a brief few seconds, the pair exhaled in relief. That is, until they realized that they had company.

“Excuse me — “

Leorio’s head spun to face the speaker, almost whacking his head on the case of eyeballs as he did so. 

Because _wow,_ they did _not_ make them like this in the slums _._ The man was absolutely stunning. 

“ — but what exactly are you doing?” 

Blonde hair like spun gold was arranged in soft waves around elegant features, their perfect symmetry resembling more god than man. Intelligent blue eyes peered out from thick lashes, a piercing sharpness to them. Leorio swallowed thickly. The man’s lean frame was wrapped in fine fabrics, colored brightly in the hues of the royal family. Gold jewelry glittered from his ears and neck, but the rich metal paled in comparison to the wearer’s beauty.

Leorio wasn’t much for poetry, but this person… this _divine being_ was worthy of infinite verses. 

“Hey Leorio,” Gon whispered, elbowing him in the ribs, “it’s rude to stare.”

Snapping out of his reverie, it occurred to Leorio that he had just landed in the gardens of the royal palace, and that if he didn’t start speaking soon, he could very well end up dead or with his hands cut off. Or both.

“Is that the stupid family heirloom that your dad keeps on yapping about?” another voice asked. A sliver-haired teen stepped out from one of the flower hedges, looking disgruntled in a way that Leorio could only attribute to his age. 

It was Gon’s turn to gape, and Leorio decided that is anyone was going to be able to explain anything, it would have to be him. 

_I just hope I don’t get us killed…_

“Oh, this?” Leorio offered the case to the blond, who accepted it with shaking hands. “We retrieved it from a band of thieves. We were going to return it to the guards at the front gates when those thieves started pursuing us.” Gon stiffened slightly at the lie but allowed it nonetheless. 

The breathtaking man, who Leorio assumed was the prince, glanced up at him with nothing short of gratitude in his eyes. “You risked your lives for this?”

Leorio cleared his throat, straightening his posture. “Yes,” he replied, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. 

“Thank you,” the prince told him, voice just the right amount of breathy to get Leorio’s mind to… _other places._ Leorio wondered what kind of cosmic lottery he had won to deserve this. 

The silver-haired boy rolled his eyes at the scene. “Great. Now we can pay them and then they can leave.” Gon’s million-watt expression dampened visibly at the other’s quick dismissal. 

“No, no,” the blond said quickly, “we should invite them to dinner, at least. They _did_ go through quite some trouble for this.”

Leorio could’ve died right on the spot and he wouldn’t have cared with how sweetly the prince was smiling at him. 

“Oh, so just because you like him you’re going to bring him to dinner?” the pale boy snarked, a smirk crawling up his features. 

The prince blushed prettily. “Killua!”

“ _Kurapika_ !” The boy named Killua mimicked. _Ah, so_ that’s _his name._

“Darling!” Another voice cried out. 

All four of their heads swung to the other side of the gardens, where a dark-haired young man was running toward them. At once, Leorio noted how Killua tensed at the presence of the newcomer. 

“Your father and I were wondering where you had gone,” the man said chidingly, his voice unfairly smooth and a tad seductive. Leorio made a face. “I came to find you.”

“Mister Lucilfer,” Kurapika acknowledged, tone immediately growing strained with an emotion that Leorio couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“My love, you only call me that when you’re angry with me,” the dark-haired man sighed, sliding an arm around his waist. His hand curled possessively at Kurapika’s hip as if it belonged there. Which by all means, it probably did. 

 _Yikes,_ Gon mouthed silently to him. 

Leorio’s heart was just about ready to jump off of a cliff. 

“Then I am angry with you always,” Kurapika snapped back, although there wasn’t much bite to his tone. 

The ~~imbecile~~ man laughed, pressing a kiss to the blond’s knuckles, something that Kurapika observed with austere indifference despite the slight flush that swept over his features. Leorio bristled as Lucilfer’s lips lingered just a moment too long. Running a thumb over Kurapika’s knuckles in a manner that one might call tender, the man turned to the rest of the group. 

“And who are these two gentlemen?” Lucilfer asked, although the sharp glint in his eyes didn’t quite match his amicable tone. 

“Oh,” Kurapika exclaimed, taking the chance to extract his hand from the other’s grasp, “they’re the ones that returned my father’s prized heirloom. At the expense of their own lives, of course.”

“How… _nice,_ ” the dark-haired man managed. Kurapika smiled innocently at his pinched expression. 

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t quite catch your names,” Kurapika said.

Leorio brightened at the blond’s returning humor. “It’s Leorio, your highness.”

“And I’m Gon!” Gon introduced cheerily. Killua smothered back a smile. 

“Ah, I see,” Lucilfer replied, tone slightly patronizing. “I am Chrollo Lucilfer, Crown Prince Kurapika’s fiance—“

“— _vizier_ ,” Kurapika quickly corrected him. “He is my father’s vizier.” Pinning the other man with a heated glare, the blond hissed at him, “My father hasn’t agreed to you yet, you insufferable bastard.” 

All he got in response was an irritatingly earnest smile, one that was most likely fake. “Not yet, my love, but soon.”

Kurapika pressed his lips into a thin line but didn’t move away. He stayed still, oddly docile, and the dark-haired man took the opportunity to pull him closer. Lucilfer’s hand slid up from his waist to cup the prince’s cheek with aching slowness. The blond took a shaky breath, skin tinted a light pink as the vizier leaned in. 

Killua pretended to gag in the background. 

“Ahem,” Leorio interjected, not quite liking how close the two were getting to each other. Chrollo stepped backwards quickly as if burned and Kurapika blinked, coming back to himself. “About the whole dinner arrangement…”

“Oh, right! Come with me,” Kurapika bid, dragging Leorio and Gon along with him before Lucilfer could so much as say a word.

Glancing behind him, Leorio paled as he saw the vizier staring back at him, void-like eyes hard and cold. 

_Well, fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some of you might recognize this oneshot from a prompt fill from two years ago! I really liked this concept so I rehabilitated the drabble and I might add on some bits as time goes on. I also decided to post this as an apology for the angst in the previous chapter. 
> 
> Added Note  
> 1\. Chrollo totally was using his mind-control thing on Kurapika when he tried to kiss him. This has happened many times.


	11. Victorian AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika thinks that his new suitor is arrogant, self-entitled, and all around insufferable. What does Baron Lucilfer think he can offer him that the others have not already? Loose Victorian AU.

The first courting gift arrived in a simple black box. 

Kurapika tried to ignore the excited whispering from his maids as he untied the elegant silk ribbon, fingers catching on the note underneath. The thick parchment was smooth to touch and Kurapika flipped it over. 

 _For Mr. Kurta,_ it read in sprawling black ink. _I do hope that this offering makes my intentions towards you more clear._

The man had then signed his name at the bottom corner of the card. Tracing the flourishing script with his eyes, Kurapika sighed. One of his servants chided him for being so ungrateful and Kurapika rearranged his lips into a vague smile. 

The present was unnecessary, really, since his new suitor had made his affections quite clear on multiple occasions before. Kurapika had caught the man watching from across crowded ballrooms and private parties, always looking but staying a safe distance way. His stare was not discreet at all, either. The intense way that the Baron _looked_ at him; it was indecent, to say the least. It was as if the man was devouring him entirely with just his gaze. 

And those careless touches of his—the quiet hand at the small of his back whenever the Baron slipped past him, the innocent brushes of their fingers during the times that the man stood just a little too close to him in a crowd.

Kurapika was convinced that they were intentional. Surely, the Baron knew what he was doing, taunting him with a kind of familiarity that he had no right to possess? Lucilfer was teasing him, and it made Kurapika burn with frustration and anger because he _wanted_ it. A small, tormenting part of him craved that lingering contact, ached for the feeling of the man’s leather gloves sliding across his skin.  

Shivering despite himself, Kurapika opened the box. 

Inside lay a single ruby earring, the gemstone casting off red bits of light as it glimmered in the lowlight. The jewelry was surprisingly delicate, not at all the obnoxious jewel that Kurapika had expected. 

“It’s lovely,” one of the maids, Senritsu, remarked in a hushed tone from beside him. Kurapika nodded absently, shutting the case with a loud snap. 

“So it is.”

The woman made an amused noise. “You do not like it, sir?”

Kurapika stood up to pace the room. “It does not matter whether or not like it. I do not approve of the man that sent it to me.” Senritsu made a face. 

“Baron Lucilfer is a powerful man, Kurapika,” she told him gently, “and he is not entirely unattractive. You could do much worse.” 

The blond snorted inelegantly. “What? Like Mr. Bhavimaina?”

The expression that Senritsu sent him was nothing short of admonishing. “You should accept his offer.”

“Why should I?” Kurapika asked. “The manner with which he looks at me—it irks me.”

Senritsu rolled her eyes. “Kurapika, you are an eligible young bachelor. Everyone stares.”

“Not like he does. It’s like he thinks that he _owns_ me.”

A heavy sigh. “At least wear the token. It’s common courtesy.”

Kurapika laughed, the sound bitter and sharp, but he clasped the thin chain onto his ear nonetheless. 

* * *

 

“Baron Lucilfer is here for you, sir.”

Kurapika glanced up from his tea, looking unimpressed. “Please send him away then. I am currently meeting with Mr. Paladiknight, so he will have to find another time to speak to me.” The servant’s expression dropped from slight nervousness to intense anxiety. 

“But sir, he _is_ a Baron.”

Taking a deliberate sip from his cup, Kurapika lifted a brow. “I don’t care if he’s the damn _king_. He has no right to come into my home and expect that I will drop all of my engagements just to receive him.” The poor servant paled, quickly walking out of the gardens. 

“That imbecile,” Kurapika muttered to himself. “Who does he think he is, waltzing in and demanding to see me without invitation?”

“I mean, he _is_ a Baron,” Leorio pointed out sarcastically. “Most likely all of his wealth and power inflated his ego to drastic proportions.” Kurapika smiled at the other man, picking up one of the ginger biscuits that the maids had provided and breaking it in half. Handing Leorio on of the pieces, he tried not to notice how the doctor perked up as their fingers touched. 

“Interruption aside,” Kurapika said, sniffing irritably, “how is your clinic doing?” He smiled to himself as Leorio visibly grew more animated. While the other man spoke excitedly about all of his new patrons and the renovations being done to the building, Kurapika’s mind drifted to his proposal. 

He had known Leorio for years, so it hadn’t exactly been a surprise that the man had been one of the first to submit a formal courting request once Kurapika reached a presentable age. Their marriage would be an easy one, if Kurapika was being completely honest with himself. He was comfortable with Leorio in a way that he would never be with his other suitors, and that familiarity would be something that would keep their union the most stable for the longest period of time. The doctor was attractive, young, and kind. Looking at the situation with a strictly rational point of view, Leorio would be the obvious choice. Yet Kurapika hesitated. 

A small, rather childish part of him was waiting, waiting for _something_ to arise between them. The soft affection was there for the other man, but there was no pull, no magnetism that drew Kurapika to him. Not like there was for—

Kurapika cut himself off before the thought could go any further.

The desire for such a frivolous emotion was foolish, Kurapika knew, but that still did not stop him from stalling in his decision.  

“... business is just _booming,_ Kurapika!” Leorio finished. Kurapika laughed at his enthusiasm, but he was cut off before he could reply. 

“I do believe it is _Mr. Kurta_ for you, Mr. Paladiknight,” a cool voice called out from the garden entrance. Kurapika bristled as the man walked into the courtyard, the expensive cut of his black suit a stark contrast to the brightness of the flower beds. “After all,” the Baron continued, “first names do suggest a kind of _familiarity,_ do they not?”

“Baron Lucilfer,” Leorio greeted, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

Getting up from his chair, Kurapika didn’t even try to hide the displeasure in his voice. “With all due respect, my Lord, I do not remember granting you permission into my house.”

Lucilfer’s lips twitched upwards. “Your parents invited me. I do believe they are quite inclined to my offer of courtship.”

Kurapika scowled. Leorio rose uneasily. 

“Would you like me to stay with you?” the doctor asked, eyeing the baron with clear distrust. “I don’t really like how he’s looking at you.”

“I don’t either,” Kurapika muttered, softening. “But you should go, Leorio. I do not think he will leave me alone until I speak with him.” The doctor nodded reluctantly, squeezing his hand briefly before letting go. Casting one last discomfited glance back at him, the man left. 

As soon as the doctor’s tall frame had disappeared into the house, Kurapika turned to the Baron. A smug expression had settled on the man’s handsome features. Kurapika resisted the urge to slap him. 

“What is it that you want?”

The Baron walked forward, a confident air to his movements. “The simple answer: you.” He was close enough now that Kurapika could smell his cologne faint in the air, the scent dark and rich yet strangely comforting. Kurapika huffed. 

“How cliché.” 

Lucilfer beamed, taking his hand. He brushed his lips against Kurapika’s knuckles, oddly intimate. Hot blood pooling at his cheeks, Kurapika tore away from his grasp. 

“You forget yourself, sir,” he reminded him severely. The man just laughed. 

“I rather think that it is the other way,” Lucilfer told him. “Meeting Mr. Paladiknight without a chaperone? How scandalous.”

Kurapika scowled. “Mr. Paladiknight is an old family friend. It is _you_ who has crossed the line of propriety here.”

The Baron ignored him. “What are you doing, my love, entertaining men that cannot offer you what you so plainly deserve?” Kurapika’s face burned. 

“Mr. Paladiknight is a good man—”

“—but what can he provide for you?” Lucilfer asked, drawing nearer. “The doctor barely has a house to his name, let alone an estate.”

“I do not care for such material things as an estate,” Kurapika quipped. “He cares for me and that is enough.” Lucilfer hummed skeptically. 

“And you?” 

Kurapika crossed his arms in front of his chest. “And I?” 

The Baron’s eyes glinted. “Do you love him?” 

“I do,” he answered, less confidently than he would have liked. Lucilfer tilted his head to one side curiously, a self-satisfied smile tugging at his lips. 

“You love him,” he acknowledged, “but that is all.”

“All?” Kurapika frowned. “What else could a good match possibly need?”

The Baron grinned, sharp and catlike. Walking toward the blond, he tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Excitement. Thrill. Spark.” He stopped in front of Kurapika, tilting his face up with one gloved hand. “All things that you, my love, are sorely _lacking_.”

Kurapika scoffed and opened his mouth to retort, only to find that he had nothing to say. He wet his lips, trying not to lean too much into the other’s warmth. “Lord Lucilfer—”

“Please,” the Baron cut in softly, “call me Kuroro.”

Kurapika bit back a surprised sound at the affectionate note in the other’s voice. “Kuroro, then,” he continued unsteadily, “what can you offer me instead?” 

“Cutting right to the chase, aren’t we?” Kuroro remarked quietly, eyes holding a strange brightness to them. “Very well. What are the others promising to you?” he asked, but he did not give Kurapika a chance to answer. “Their fortunes? Family heirlooms? An estate in the countryside?” Kuroro scoffed, shaking his head. “You say that you do not care about the material… well, neither do I.” 

Kurapika looked at him in confusion. _Just what are you playing at?_

“My estates, my wealth—those will all be yours as well, but what I wish to extend to you is much more personal. What I offer you is my livelihood. I want to share my business with you, to have you as counsel when I make my decisions. Your intelligence, my love, is invaluable, and anyone who says otherwise is a fool. My work is my life, Mister Kurta, and that much I am willing to give to you. Everything I have, everything that I _am,_ will be yours.” The honesty in his eyes seared through the blond, shaking him to his core. 

Kurapika turned away, bringing up a hand to cover the blush that had begun to spread up his face. How could he have done that? Barged into his home and promised him with such sincerity what no other had ever dared to… just who did he think he was? 

Still, a new interest sparked in his chest. 

“And what do you want from me in return? Surely you do not plan to give all of this without recompense?” 

The dark-haired man just stared back at him with that strange intensity. “All I ask is for you to be at my side.”

Kurapika swallowed. “As your trophy?”

“As my _equal._ ”

Kurapika’s breath caught as Kuroro’s fingers traced the curve of his jaw, down the column of his throat. The words in Kurapika’s mouth died at his lips. The Baron smiled slightly at the stunned expression on the other’s face. He pushed back some of Kurapika’s hair to reveal the glimmering ruby that hung from his ear, making a pleased sound at the sight of his token. His sentiment was clear in the way that he reached up to touch the dangling gem, finger curling around it possessively. 

“I look forward to our next meeting, Mr. Kurta.”

As the man pulled away Kurapika unfroze. 

“Kurapika,” he corrected. Kuroro paused, looking back. Clearing his throat, Kurapika composed himself. “You can call me Kurapika.”

A bright grin. “Kurapika,” Kuroro said slowly, as if testing the name on his tongue. Kurapika discovered that he quite liked how it sounded from the other’s mouth. “Well. Until next time, _Kurapika._ ”

Kurapika tried to ignore then newfound attraction that stirred within him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! I hope this oneshot wasn't too boring. I was reading over this again and I realized that it was pretty uninteresting... please let me know what you think!
> 
> Added Note:  
> 1\. Kuroro runs a business with his Phantom Troupe--probably something having to do with shipping/trade because that was where the money was in the Victorian Age
> 
> 2\. My knowledge of the Victorian Era is pretty dicey, so apologies for the numerous errors in this oneshot.

**Author's Note:**

> chat with me on tumblr @unreadable0 :)


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